The private dining chamber was adjacent to the command center's secure wing, accessed through a quiet hallway lined with minimalist, high-clearance decor: pale-blue walls embedded with subtle shimmerlight strips, a gentle ambient hum keeping pace with the clean, pressurized airflow. The security field had been lifted, the anti-surveillance bubble collapsed. Everything now felt… normal.
Or as normal as things got on a space station where power and policy orbited each other like twin suns.
Ethan followed Governor Krell through a discreet sliding panel into a softly lit chamber where a long table waited, elegant and subdued. No armed guards. No advisors. Just a quiet space, well-appointed and civilized. The far wall offered a filtered view of the cityscape beneath the Ashen Prime dome, where the afternoon light was beginning to shift toward simulated dusk.
"I thought it might be better to finish our conversation in a place where the walls don't hum like a warship," Krell said lightly, motioning for Ethan to take a seat.
The table itself wasn't ostentatious. But the detail was unmistakable, slim-cut utensils, lumiglass plates, and an arrangement of dishes designed for both humans and non-humanoids. The aroma was subtle but rich: warm spices, fresh herbs, and faint mineral tangs that hinted at complex origins.
Ethan sat, relaxing just slightly for the first time in hours.
The drone servers, silent and efficient, delivered the first round: delicate slices of slow-poached Elari root layered with translucent spice jelly, a common appetizer on garden-rich worlds in the western Nahlari cluster.
"The Federation," Krell began, "wasn't just built on ideals. Or ships. Or weapons. It was built on exchange. Trade. Culture. Curiosity. And food…"
He paused, lifting a piece of the Elari root delicately with a pair of precision tongs.
"Food," he said with a wry smile, "was the first thing we ever agreed on."
Ethan quirked a brow. "Seriously?"
"It's easier to share a table than a doctrine," Krell said. "Even during the War of Severance, there were nights when enemy commanders sent each other spice wine and preserved fish. It's one of the reasons we banned food restrictions after the secession. The Empire classified hundreds of culinary practices as 'culturally inappropriate', especially for non-human species."
"So they weren't just banning meals?"
"They were banning identities," Krell replied. "You can erase history when you erase the taste of it."
Ethan let that sit for a moment as he took a bite of the Elari root. The texture was soft but firm at the core, its surface touched with a kind of citrus heat that bloomed briefly and faded clean. It was… strangely honest. Not trying to impress. Just trying to be what it was.
The next round arrived: a segmented dish built for multi-species palates. A vapor-basted Velkran pepper loaf that released plumes of intensely spiced steam when broken. A tray of chilled flavor orbs used by aquatic species, each sphere about the size of a marble, shimmering faintly in the light. And a central roast of lean-cut Fyorin beast, glazed in a translucent moss-honey sauce.
"That's from the Drelvi highlands," Krell said, gesturing to the roast. "Single herd, raised on the stoneplate fields of planet Argalis. Only four ranches in the Argo system still produce it traditionally."
Ethan blinked at him. "You know your food."
Krell chuckled softly. "You pick up a few things when you're trying to keep entire systems from sliding into rebellion. One dinner party can be more decisive than a dozen debates."
"Diplomacy by appetite?"
"Exactly."
They ate in relative silence for a few minutes. The flavors were layered, intricate. Nothing overpowering, but every ingredient carried weight, history. Ethan appreciated it more than he expected. He'd eaten well since Kynara, but this was different. This wasn't just sustenance. It was a story.
"Cuisine's one of the last things people still fight for, you know," Krell said between bites. "Even war-torn planets cling to their cooking traditions. I've seen places that had no hospitals, no schools… but still kept ancient recipe vaults."
"Because it makes them feel like themselves," Ethan said quietly.
Krell nodded.
The table cleared slowly as the drone attendants removed empty plates and delivered dessert: a chilled tri-layer custard infused with Zelari bloom nectar and three crisped starch wafers shaped like leaves.
Ethan didn't touch it immediately. Instead, his thoughts had wandered.
To Earth.
Specifically: a narrow ramen shop just outside Shibuya Station. Old, cracked countertop. A hand-scribbled menu. The smell of slow-cooked broth in the winter air. He used to go there when the work load felt like too much.
Or quiet afternoons in a park, sitting on a bench in his salaryman suit, onigiri or tuna-mayo sandwiches in hand, sometimes a convenience store bento, always alone.
No conversation. No cause.
Just the taste. The texture. A moment of peace that belonged only to him.
He came back to the present with a soft breath. Krell was watching him but didn't press.
"Not the best meal I've had," Ethan said, finally trying the custard and finding it smooth, with a floral chill that opened like a breeze.
"But damn close."
Krell smiled faintly. "I will take that as a compliment to the chefs."
They let the conversation fade after that, eating without urgency. No more politics. No more pitches. Just food. Just silence. Just two men from different orbits sharing a table above the stars.
When the meal ended, Krell stood.
"Will you be staying on Ashen Prime long?" he asked as they made their way toward the exit.
Ethan glanced at the city below the dome. Lights had begun to shift with the station's programmed dusk, giving everything a golden softness.
"One more day," he said. "A few stops to make. Then I need to head into one of the Core Sectors. My promotion to C-Rank won't file itself."
Krell tilted his head slightly, a hint of wry amusement in his voice."I hope the station has been… adequate."
Ethan gave a small nod, his tone relaxed."It has. Comfortable, quiet. A step up from field bunkers and makeshift barracks on Kynara, that's for sure."
A faint smile touched the governor's lips."We do try."
Outside the chamber, his escort team waited. The same guards from earlier, professional, quiet, respectful.
No surveillance. No coded glances. No lingering pressure.
Just the end of a meal.
"We'll remain in contact," Krell said as the doors began to close behind him.
"I know," Ethan replied.
The governor offered a parting nod, not as a superior to a subordinate, but as a man acknowledging another man's path and then turned back into the shadows of the command complex.
Ethan followed his escort in silence, letting the weight of everything settle gently over his shoulders, not as a burden, but as a layer. A new coat. One he hadn't asked for, but might wear anyway, depending on how the days ahead unfolded.
The journey back to The Spire View was quick, smooth, and quiet. The mag-transport slid along a sealed express line, bypassing commercial traffic and weaving through the clean-cut spine of the administrative zone. Outside the smartglass windows, the golden hues of simulated dusk had deepened into evening blues, the dome above flickering with programmed stars.
When he finally stepped back into the familiar, pristine hush of his suite, he let out a slow exhale.
No messages.
No missions.
Just a room, a sky, and a silence that he appreciated more than he ever would've in his past life.
He slipped off his boots, set his jacket on the automated rack, and crossed to the reclining chair by the panoramic window. But before fully relaxing, he tapped his datapad, syncing with the station's secure network.
"Iris," he said softly.
Her voice responded at once, clear and steady through the suite's ambient system.
"Online. The Obsidian Wraith remains fully docked and secure. All systems nominal. Passive diagnostic scans are running every two hours. Internal temperatures are stable. Fuel reserves untouched. No external access attempts detected."
Ethan nodded to himself. Always efficient. Always thorough.
"Anything I need to worry about?"
"Negative," Iris replied. "You are clear for continued downtime. I suggest rest and light activity to maintain optimal performance."
He smirked faintly. "Appreciate the permission."
"It is not permission," she said with a trace of what might have been dry humor. "It is guidance."
The connection ended with a soft chime.
Ethan leaned back, the chair adjusting automatically to the contours of his body. He gazed out over the slowly shifting city beneath the dome, Ashen Prime glowing with artificial starlight and Federation precision..
He decided, then and there, to let the evening pass without plans. No exploration. No meditation. No analyzing power plays or double meanings.
Just a quiet night. In a high-rise suite. In a space station built to command the stars.
Tomorrow would come.
And with it, a dozen new decisions.